The hush in the courtroom was suffocating. Every breath, every shiver of a robe, every scrape of a chair seemed to echo off the enchanted stone walls. Sirius Black sat in the heavy wooden chair, chained by Ministry enchantments that glowed faintly at his wrists. His jaw was set in defiance, but his eyes burned with a mix of rage and sorrow. The Aurors standing nearby uncorked a small vial—the Veritaserum. Its silver sheen caught the magical torchlight.
Dumbledore stepped forward, his voice calm but commanding. "Administer the potion."
The Auror tilted the vial to Sirius's lips. He drank it without any hesitation or resistance. Three drops touched his tongue, and at once his body slackened. His eyes became glassy, fixed not on the crowd but on something inward.
"Now, Sirius," Dumbledore began softly, "you will answer truthfully. Tell us—why was the Secret Keeper for the Potters changed? Who was it, and when was it changed?"
Sirius's voice was flat, without hesitation. "It was Peter Pettigrew. We changed the Secret Keeper days before the dark lord attacked. I convinced James… I thought no one would suspect Peter. I thought it was safer that way."
Gasps rippled across the room. Murmurs spread like wildfire. Dumbledore raised a hand, and silence returned.
"And did you ever betray James and Lily Potter?"
"No. Never. I would have died before betraying them."
Harry's fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white.
Dumbledore's eyes glinted. "Then why, Sirius, did you go after Peter Pettigrew in the Muggle street? Why did twelve Muggles die that day?"
Sirius's face twitched as memories flooded back. "I saw James and Lily's bodies. My friends… dead. Rage and grief took over me… I knew Peter betrayed them. I tracked him down. We fought. He shouted for everyone to hear that I had betrayed James and Lily. Then he blew himself and also blew apart the street, and killed twelve Muggles. He apparently escaped as a rat during that chaos. Everyone thought he was dead. Even I thought he was death. Not until I saw his animagus form on the newspaper, that I got know that filthy rat was alive."
The silence that followed was crushing.
Dumbledore's voice rang out, steady as ever. "We cannot doubt the Veritaserum. The potion compels truth beyond manipulation. Therefore, I declare before this court that Sirius Black is innocent of the crimes for which he was imprisoned."
The chamber erupted. Some gasped, some cheered, some shouted angrily. Reporters scratched quills furiously against parchment.
But Harry didn't hear any of it. He ran forward, breaking past the Aurors, and threw his arms around Sirius. The man, freed at last from the potion's hold, blinked hard, then broke into a ragged sob. He wrapped his arms around Harry and held him as though the world itself could vanish if he let go.
"My godson…" Sirius whispered, his voice breaking. "Harry… I never stopped loving you. Never."
Harry's throat closed, words failing him. "I knew… I knew it wasn't you. I knew it."
Ron and Hermione hovered nearby, they were smiling. Hermione finally stepped forward. "Mr. Black, you're free now. The world will know."
Sirius gave a broken laugh, one hand still on Harry's shoulder. "Free… Merlin, I almost forgot what that word feels like."
From the back rows, Eira rose silently, her gaze fixed on the scene unfolding below. From other side of the courtroom, Eleanor Boot the so-called American journalist—was already striding forward, her heels clicking smartly against the stone floor as she approached Dumbledore.
Eira's eyes narrowed. She watched as the two exchanged quiet words, their heads inclined toward one another. The picture presentation had been too neat and perfectly timed. So, Eira thought, 'Dumbledore was part of this plan after all.`
For a fleeting moment, suspicion curled through her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. 'No… it isn't that he's joined with the Americans. They're simply using each other, each seeking their own gain.'
Her thoughts sharpened as she considered the implications. 'By presenting that photograph, Eleanor Boot has secured Sirius Black's freedom—and in doing so, she has made him indebted to her. From this day on, she will have a claim upon him, a bond forged not by loyalty but by merit and repayment. A clever move. One that Dumbledore will allow, so long as it serves his purpose too.'
Eira folded her arms, her expression unreadable. She had just witnessed not merely the unveiling of evidence, but the weaving of alliances.
She leaned close to Fleur, who stood at her side. "Let's go. Everything's finished. I don't want to waste time with pretentious pure-bloods preening for the press."
Fleur's eyes flickered to her, then softened. "Oui. Let us go."
Without another glance toward the chaos, Eira reached for Fleur's hand. Their fingers intertwined naturally, and together they slipped through the back door of the courtroom.
*********************
The Ministry's atrium stretched vast and glittering before them. They walked hand in hand beneath the golden statues, ignored by the throngs of wizards still rushing toward the courtroom. Instead of the crowded visitor exit, Eira led Fleur to the VIP passage reserved for foreign delegates and ancient families. The enchanted doors parted for her, recognizing the crest of White.
Moments later, they stepped out into the cool London evening. The bustle of Muggles filled the streets beyond the Disillusionment charms. Cars passed by, laughter rose from pubs, the city alive with ordinary folk walking around to their livelihood.
Eira turned to Fleur with a smile tugging at her lips. "So… what do you say? Want to go on a proper date? A Muggle restaurant. And enjoy something special with Just us."
Fleur blinked, then her lips curled into a smile—sweet and genuine as she said softly"I would love go on a date with you my love."
*************
They wandered until they found a small restaurant tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop. Golden light spilled from its windows, and the hum of quiet chatter drifted out as the door opened. Inside, candles flickered on each table, and the smell of roasted herbs and fresh bread filled the air.
The host, a young man in a neat apron, greeted them. "Table for two?"
"Yes," Eira said, her voice firm but warm. She tightened her hand slightly around Fleur's, grounding herself in the reality of the moment.
They were led to a table by the window. Fleur slid gracefully into her chair, her silver-blonde hair gleaming in the candlelight. Eira sat opposite, her heart oddly quickened by the simplicity of it all.
Menus were placed before them. Fleur glanced at hers, brow furrowing slightly. "Mon anglais is fine, but some of these words…" She tapped the page lightly, cheeks coloring. "What is a shepherd's pie?"
Eira grinned. "Oh, that's a classic. Potatoes, meat, vegetables—all baked together. Comfort food."
"Comfort," Fleur echoed, smiling. "Then maybe I will try that."
"And I'll get the roasted chicken," Eira decided. "Something simple."
They placed their orders, and soon a basket of warm bread arrived. Fleur tore a piece delicately, buttering it with graceful hands. She looked up at Eira, her expression soft. "It feels strange. Sitting here… as though we are just two ordinary girls."
Eira leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand with a tired sigh. "That's exactly what I wanted. After those long hours in court, I think we deserve proper food. Honestly, I thought something interesting would happen, but it didn't—it was all the same things everyone already knew. Boring."
Fleur's cheeks flushed faintly as she set her goblet down. "Well, whatever it was, it's finished now. It doesn't matter anymore. Besides…" her lips curved into a small smile, "I enjoyed it."
Eira tilted her head, brows lifting. "Enjoyed it? How could you enjoy that? It was tedious."
Fleur's smirk turned playful. "Because every second I spent there was with you. So yes—I loved it."
For a moment, Eira blinked, caught off guard, but Fleur pressed on, her voice softening. She set down her bread and lifted her gaze, steady and unflinching.
"I grew up hearing that my beauty would always be a weapon—or a curse. That no one would ever see me as anything more than a Veela. But when you look at me, Eira…" Fleur's lips trembled with the faintest smile. "You don't see that. You see me. That's why I said I enjoyed it—because even if we are in the most dreadful place, I will still be glad, so long as I am with you."
For a moment, Eira was silent, her eyes locked on Fleur's. Then she smiled, warm and sincere. "Of course I see you. You're Fleur. Brilliant, heavenly beautiful so much so that I hardly resist myself when I am around you."
Fleur laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You are dangerous, Eira White. You say things that make it very hard not to pin you down here and start doing naughty stuff to you." She caught herself, cheeks aflame. "You are irresistible too."
Their food arrived then, breaking the spell. The shepherd's pie steamed invitingly, and Fleur's eyes lit up after her first bite. "Oh! This is wonderful. So warm… rich. You must try it." She pushed her plate slightly toward Eira.
Eira accepted a spoonful, nodding appreciatively. "Not bad at all. But I think mine is better." She speared a piece of roasted chicken and offered it across the table.
Fleur leaned in, tasting from the fork with unthinking intimacy. When she sat back, she smiled slyly. "Hmm. Yours is good too. But I prefer mine."
They laughed, the sound mingling with the soft clinking of cutlery and murmur of conversations around them.